“Sit thee down ’ere, I say, an’ get thee a drop o’ port. Come—no argy-bargyin’.”
Meg fetched more glasses and a decanter. I made a place for her between me and George. We all had port wine. Meg, naïve and unconscious, waited on us deliciously. Her cheeks gleamed like satin when she laughed, save when the dimples held the shadow. Her suave, tawny neck was bare and bewitching. She turned suddenly to George as he asked her a question, and they found their faces close together. He kissed her, and when she started back, jumped and kissed her neck with warmth.
“Là—là—dy—dà—là—dy—dà—dy—dà,” cried the old woman in delight, and she clutched her wineglass.
“Come on—chink!” she cried, “all together—chink to him!”
We four chinked and drank. George poured wine in a tumbler, and drank it off. He was getting excited, and all the energy and passion that normally were bound down by his caution and self-instinct began to flame out.
“Here, aunt!” said he, lifting his tumbler, “here’s to what you want—you know!”
“I knowed tha’ wor as spunky as ony on’em,” she cried. “Tha’ nobbut wanted warmin’ up. I’ll see as you’re all right. It’s a bargain. Chink again, ivrybody.”
“A bargain,” said he before he put his lips to the glass.
“What bargain’s that?” said Meg.
The old lady laughed loudly and winked at George, who, with his lips wet with wine, got up and kissed Meg soundly, saying: